Fifteen Years
by PotterAnon
Summary: Harry and Ginny start something in the Common Room when Ginny finds him there in the middle of the night. Contains sexual scenes. First posted fanfic, be gentle.


Summary: Harry and Ginnystart somethingin the Common Room when Ginny finds him there in the middle of the night.

Disclaimer: Oh c'mon, if I was J K Rowling, would I be writing fanfiction on the Internet? I don't think so, do you?

**Fifteen Years**

The Gryffindor Common Room was deadly quiet, the only light coming from the fire. The High ceilings were barely visible, steeped in impenetrable darkness. The tapestries, hangings, portraits, the notice boards, the chintz armchairs and massive kaleidoscopic rugs on the stoneware floor flickered in the firelight, as clouds split the beams of white moonlight pouring through the windows.

Ginny had been incapable of sleep. Something in the back of her mind buzzed, and wouldn't let her brain shut down. In her silky pyjama-bottoms and ivy green vest, she slipped down the dark staircase and into the Common Room, completely silent, and headed for the stash of food left from that evening. Before she got half way across the room, though, she heard a sniff, and what could vaguely be described as a whimper. Startled, but noiseless, she whirled on the spot, before creeping over to what she imagined to be the source of the sound.

Poking her head past the back of the armchair nearest the fire, she peered down into it. What she saw knocked her equilibrium.

Harry Potter gazed into the fire, his eyes wet and streaming. His forehead was wrinkled into a deep frown, but he wasn't stopping himself crying.

"Harry?" she said, meekly. Glancing at her, his eyes swollen and red, he swiped angrily at the moisture on his face, his jaw tight.

"Ginny. I thought everyone was asleep." His voice shook. Ginny swallowed. Harry Potter? Crying?

Harry made to stand up, but immediately Ginny knew what she should be doing. Gently, she pressed her palm onto his shoulder, forcing him back into the chair. She dropped lightly into his chair, next to him. He looked at her, sidelong and uneasy.

"Don't try and stop it Harry," she told him earnestly. "You've only got one night to get fifteen years worth of repressed tears out. You better not waste time."

Damply, Harry smiled at her, and turned back to the fire, his vision clouding with tears again. He allowed them the run silently, but would not allow himself to sob. Ginny leant into him and hugged his middle, until she felt him leaning back. She didn't move from there until he did.

"Ginny," he said thickly, when the clock on the mantelpiece showed three o'clock, and a hazy pink had tinged the sky. A frown still etched his features.

"Yes?" she said, still wide-awake and kneeling next to him, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"Should I be feeling this... peaceful?"

"Yes," she said, smiling.

"Why?"

She looked at him. "Presumably, you don't usually sit up all night crying?"

"Not usually."

"Then you've had, like I said, fifteen years of emotions and feelings and things happening to you that have gone un-expressed." Harry didn't reply. Though she suspected that was because it was true, and he agreed, but was loathed to admit it. "God, Harry, it's got to find someway out. You've had more to deal with in the last few years than anyone should have a lifetime to deal with."

"I don't like," he burst out, "having this whole wave of the stuff coming down on me in one go."

Ginny, before she could stop herself, ran her fingers back through his unruly hair. He closed his eyes.

"Of course you don't, who would? But it's better to let it out than force it down. You'd make yourself sick. It's not weakness," she said, and when Harry's eyes snapped to hers she figured she'd hit the nail on the head. "This is definitely a strength. Or at least it is as far as I'm concerned. Better to do it now than break down later. You said yourself that you were feeling better. _Peaceful_."

"My mind's clearer," he agreed forlornly.

Ginny nodded. "Mum always told me that if I was upset, have a good cry. Never put much paid to it personally."

"Maybe that's why you've got such a quick temper," Harry joked, his face blotchy.

Ginny punched him on the arm. He made a pained face and rubbed it.

"Oh, c'mon!" she spluttered, "you've survived Vol-demort's attacks since you were one but you can't stand being hit by a girl!"

"You said the name." It wasn't a question. He grinned. "Thanks Ginny."

Modestly, she shrugged. "Anytime you need to act like a wimp again, let me know..." She was treated to a return punch on the arm. In retaliation she poked him in the side - with great awkwardness considering how close they were next to each other. What resulted was a sharp heavy barrage of poking and prodding each other, which eventually digressed into tickling. Unfortunately Harry got the upper hand and shortly had her mercilessly in fits of stifled hysterics, kicking and wriggling. Loosing her balance, she slid onto the hearthrug.

"Ow! Harry!" she sat up on her elbows. "_You_ are a git."

"Nah," he smiled, leaning over the chair. "A git wouldn't offer to help you up," he said, extending his arm. Ginny grabbed it, yanked, and pulled Harry down off the chair on top of her with a soft "oof!"

"Ginny!"

But she didn't hear him for the giggling. She shook with silent mirth even as Harry half-laughed, half-sulked, resting his upper body on his arms, either side of her head, his legs falling between hers.

Suddenly, without warning, Harry's warm lips were on hers. Briefly, lightly, fleetingly. Then they were gone.

Shockingly sober, she stared at him. His face was burning red, his neck too. Agonisingly slowly, she watched him sink towards her again. She couldn't move.

He did it again, a little longer this time. Her heart was racing, heat enveloping her body. She felt the friction of his lips against hers, her eyes closed.

His nose nudged hers, and she rose up to meet his lips, deciding this was nothing she objected to. As soon as he felt her respond, everything sped up. His mouth was on hers with a new, desperate ferocity, hot and wet. Her hands went up, her fingers laced his hair, her chest expanded, pressing against his.

She felt his mouth, lapping her up hungrily, and she felt an equal need rise in her, driving her to brush her hands down his chest and slid them up under his shirt. Tingling started all over her, from her feet up and her head down, meeting in the middle. Her lips were swollen and pulsing, her hands over Harry's boiling skin, his lips falling haphazardly over her mouth, cheeks, nose. Carefully she redirected him, leading his mouth.

Abruptly she came to a realisation that drowned her in confusion. She felt Harry, hot and heavy, rubbing firmly against her centre. He was clearly enjoying this, as was she. But her mind was in torment.

He shifted slightly, and pleasure erupted through her, swept her body, and dissipated all too quickly. She gasped, her back tense. Harry faltered.

"Ginny?" he panted, looking embarrassed.

Without hesitation she joined her lips to his again, and moved against him, trying desperately to find that burst of pleasure again. It took several moments of heated kissing before she hit the right spot again.

Again, it was only a trickle of some kind of potential pleasure she felt certain was there, but it was again gone in an instant. It was three o'clock in the morning, everyone was asleep, the Common Room was almost pitch black. What were the chances of someone walking in and finding her with her pants down?

Negligible, she decided, and proceeded to shuffle, dragging her pyjama trousers down to her knees. Harry's hands were everywhere on her, brushing swiftly up her legs and down her arms and over her stomach. He appeared to have little interest in her breasts, but was content to let his hands meander wherever they pleased. For some reason this bolstered Ginny considerably. Bravely, she tugged at Harry's trousers. They came down, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. She felt his brief moment of confusion, and then his instincts seem to take over:

His kissing continued as his hands shared the tasks of holding his weight and pulling her underwear to her ankles. His mouth never strayed far from hers, even as he resumed his movement over her. He appeared to have no desire to take it any further just then, but she barely registered his consideration - this was an incalculably strange and alien feeling for her, but the motion of his self against her brought her, with amateurish speed (or did it just _seem_ so quick?) to a very heightened state of awareness, pleasure rippling through her.

Impatient, she took it upon herself to guide him towards her opening, feeling the throbbing against the side of her leg as a sign of either his extreme nearing to completion, or his incredible concentration to slow until he got there. The latter seemed unlikely: this was - as far as she knew - his first time. Which meant that he was about to make a very big mess.

Bracing herself, she pulled him into her, and felt a painful twinge and tear inside her. It was, it appeared though, all he needed. He stopped, froze, and then shuddered, and emptied himself within her. He was mindless, uncomprehending and breathing heavily, his skin filmy with foggy sweat. Jet black hair fell into his eyes, and somewhere along the line he'd lost his glasses.

Emerald eyes sparkled into life and he blinked, swallowing. For a few seconds he looked as though he had absolutely no understanding as to what had happened. Then his mouth, flushed gorgeously red, dropped open.

"Ginny, I-" he began.

"Don't you dare say you're sorry, Harry Potter, or I will kick you in your happy place right now, I don't care how vulnerable they are."

It took him a few seconds to catch up, but then he grinned, lop-sidedly. He groped for his fallen glasses, swallowing heavily several times.

Ginny kissed him firmly on the lips, then laid back down, pulling him into a hug.

"Ginny, you're... all... _wet_," he said, as his leg lay across her folds, with a mixture of embarrassment and curiosity. She laughed.

"Yes, it does happen like that, Harry. Its perfectly normal."

Harry was quiet, but she could feel something unspoken lying behind those staggeringly green eyes.

"What is it?" she said gently.

"Nothing. It's, just..." Ginny watched him trying to articulate it. "You don't seem... finished," he said, lamely.

She was amazed at his accuracy. He was exactly right - she hadn't finished. She had reached a peak of so much warm, driving pleasure that she thought so was going to explode with frustration. But she'd noticed his strain and sacrificed her own pleasure to relieve his. In her mind it sounded wonderfully noble, but she knew if she told him this it would embarrass him. Nobody would like to hear that they were quick to climax. Even if, considering their newness at this, it was to be expected.

Instead, she decided to leap that conversation and try to set about resolving the problem.

"Want to help me finish?"

The words came to him as if across a great gulf. Ginny sat there, leaning on an armchair, a hand resting over her stomach and her leg bent calmly across herself, concealing her centre from view. He, with crippling self-consciousness, had pulled his trousers across himself, and sat, cross-legged, close to her.

"How?" he asked.

She smiled, hazel eyes beaming. Heat rose up the back of his neck - God, she was so pretty. With a kind of serene expertise that greatly disconcerted him, she positioned him behind her, leaning against the back of the chair with cushions propped behind him. She leant back against his chest, spreading her legs. Trepidation of a different sort to what Harry had ever felt before paralysed him, but it was mingled irresistibly with painfully potent curiosity.

"How do you know this?" he asked, in an attempt to cover any nervousness. Unfortunately his voice was not as stable as he would have liked.

"Every girl experiments, Harry. It's a simple matter of exploration."

Having her talk so openly and so blatantly was something he'd never heard before. He came from a family of prudes - the Dursleys, who considered it apparently beyond their bounds of duty to educate Harry in anything like this. Then he had stayed at the Weasley's, who, evidently from Ginny's behaviour, had no qualms about discussing the facts of life. Harry had obviously arrived too late to be enlightened though. It wasn't like he didn't know how, biologically, babies were made. It was just that he had no knowledge of the intricacies of actually pleasuring someone.

Ginny had captured the back of his hand in her warm palm. Her hand was shaking ever so slightly. Harry was relieved to see she had the compassion to be a little bit nervous too.

"Ginny," he breathed, ruffling the hair at her ear. "You do know I like you, right?"

She smirked back over her shoulder. "Well I should hope so Harry, otherwise I'm not sure how we would've managed to do what we just did."

Harry grimaced. "No, I didn't mean it like that. I just mean to say that, I _really_ like you. I mean, as more than just a—"

"Shag?" she filled in. He looked startled.

"I was going to say 'friend', but yeah, that too."

Ginny grinned. She tugged him down and placed a kiss on his lips, holding it there for a few seconds.

"So..." he said, quietly. "How?"

Ginny shuffled, repositioning herself. "Better if I show you," she said, wriggling her hand holding his. "Can I?"

"That was my question."

"Then you may."

Harry hesitated. "I don't know—"

Ginny smiled guiltily. "I'm just pulling your leg, Harry. Here—"

She cupped his hand in hers more fully and guided his fingers towards her opening, but she just rested his hand on her leg.

"I'm going to take this slowly," she whispered, "at first. Just to relax you."

Harry couldn't help thinking that she was the one who should really be relaxed, but didn't say anything. He was happy just to sit there with her, feeling her trail his fingers up and down the inside of her leg. This was, undoubtedly the most intimate, private thing he had ever been a part of, and definitely the most affectionate. He could remember almost every instance of warm, intimate peace in his life, but none of it compared to this, with Ginny.

Gently his finger tips brushed one of her folds, then another, and again. Ginny's method of guidance meant that she had almost as little foreknowledge as Harry before something was touched, surprising her.

"Talk to me," he murmured. Ginny swallowed, her throat sticky.

"Okay. I'm going to lead you around me, is that all right? I'll talk you through as we go."

His middle finger seemed to be her preference. She brushed it lightly over the small bud of her clitoris at the top of her sex, then she brought it down into warm, wet area between that and her opening. She moved him around its interior for a few seconds, and gently dipped it into her, drawing her moisture out over her surrounding folds.

"The wetness," she explained, slightly breathless, "is a natural way of smoothing the way when, you know... someone enters me. Obviously that's best when I've had enough pleasure to get wet enough." Harry nodded, feeling very strange.

She circled her clitoris with his finger. "Feel that?" he nodded again, completely unable to speak, "that's my clitoris. It's the only part of the human body, ever, that is designed with no other use other than pleasure. That's why it's so effective at doing its job."

She steered him around it again. He felt her shiver slightly. She enveloped his finger inside her again, drawing up more moisture over her clitoris. Gently, she revolved his finger around the bud, continually travelling in circles. Occasionally she would change the direction, or swoop to gather more wetness, or rub over the top of the bud.

"What are you doing?" he asked, hoarse.

"T-trying to find a rhythm," she explained throatily, her eyes closed. There was a look of great concentration on her face. Harry remembered vividly the feelings and sensations that had accompanied his pleasuring moments beforehand. He wondered if she felt the same writhing, squealing pleasure that nipped at the edges of her consciousness as he had, the barely recognisable but oh-so desirable tingling sensation which licked upwards from his stomach to the tips of his fingers and toes and made him flush all over. From the uneven pattern of her breathing, the occasional slight shift in her hips, he suspected she did, or something similar.

Somehow the synchronically of the actions shifted, and Ginny's hand started moving his finger with a lot more certainty and purpose. It no longer seemed exploratory, but the movements were repetitive, firm, just as his had been when he went from kissing her to rubbing his self against her to experience pleasure. They were slow and deliberate, and Ginny led him, but he noticed a subtle shift in the way she held her body.

For several minutes there was little change, except a few marginal, tiny alterations in timing, pressure and placement, but in all Ginny lay there, eyes closed in focused concentration. Then a different change came over her. Her breathing quickened, her eyes tightened, her middle clenched. He could feel her muscles tensing in his lap, and suddenly he was greeted by a new Ginny, a Ginny who hungered silently and without requesting anything to be brought the same crest of screaming pleasure that he had been. Before, what she wanted would have been so far off that if she missed it, it wouldn't have mattered. Now she could feel pleasure building with every second's stimulation, and so desperately would she want release, so closely could she taste the edges of that ecstasy that stopping, simply cutting off was completely and utterly unthinkable. Harry actually thought he understood, and there was nothing he wanted more than to be the one to push her over that particular edge.

She let out an audible pant, and swallowed.

"Harry," she murmured vaguely, "you have to do something for me."

"Anything," he said, honestly and immediately. "What?"

"If I try and speed up, you've got to stop me," she said plainly. "Just go a little slower than I would want. And then, when I come," she gasped, all embarrassment replaced by urgent need, "keep going. Go a bit faster if you think, just keep doing what we're going, please, please, please, Harry..."

He was surprised to hear her, a few minutes ago so centred and controlled, pleading helplessly with him. "I will," he told her firmly.

She didn't reply, didn't say 'good', just fell back to her trance, again putting all her thoughts into rubbing herself, into feeling the steady building of pleasure like water behind a rotten damn that was going to snap any second.

He felt her surging, felt everything beginning to meld into one. Her body continually got increasingly tense, her breathing became haggard, her chest falling shallowly. Her knees tightened, and he knew she was stopping herself from drawing her knees up and bending her legs. Her pace quickened. He knew her desperation had kicked in and her finger over his was forcing him to quicken the speed. He knew that inside her, millions of nerves were alight and on fire, and that a white-hot wall of pleasure was strengthening in her lower belly.

He slowed to her original pace, and her hand dropped away, somehow she gathered the thought enough not to fight him. He was left felling terribly abandoned - what if he couldn't do it, and she was left with all this pleasure built up with nowhere to go. If she felt like he did, she'd be crazy, insane.

But she was writhing, wriggling in his lap. Her head twisted strangely, as if she thought it might feel better with her head facing left, then decided right was better first time. Her hips pressed forward, making him rub her harder, and she shuffled and twisted and shifted under his touches. Instinctively he ignored her earlier warning as she spluttered in frustration, and increased his speed fractionally.

Quite unexpectedly something snapped inside her, and she lurched forward. Her knees came up, her body shuddered, and her head dropped back. Tremors caught her whole body and shook it, for several seconds. It seemed like waves of pleasure were washing over her, each new one bringing a new ripple of ecstasy through her.

She flopped back onto his chest, panting.

Harry watched her, enthralled. He was quite sure that that had been one of the most wonderful things he had ever seen: that Ginny could loose herself so fully and completely in her own body's sensations, in something he had done...

"Ginny?" he said timidly, wrapping his arms around her.

"Harry," she breathed, her eyes fluttering open just slightly. "You did well. Very well. Thanks."

He beamed. But the pink tinge that had been in the window had changed into a golden slice of morning sun on the wall of the room. Before long people would emerge from the dormitory staircases, and if they didn't get up some very awkward questions would be asked. Like why they were both lying, naked from the waist down, tangled in each other's arms at the fireside in the Common Room. Of course, anybody who actually asked would have to be exceedingly stupid not to have worked it out.

"We need to get upstairs," Ginny said quietly. Harry nodded, and passed her pyjama-bottoms to her, then pulled on his own. Standing, Harry held her hand and helped her to her feet.

"Ginny," he began, as she led him by the hand towards the stairs, "I just wanted to say, thank you. For letting me see that."

Ginny smiled enigmatically. "Couldn't have done it without you," she said brightly, but he could hear exhaustion in her voice. Gently, she leant up and kissed his mouth.

"You're coming to Hogsmead with me next week, aren't you?" Harry asked.

Ginny beamed. "Naturally," she said, and she led him back up upstairs to their separate dormitories.


End file.
